The News From Your Bed
by crazyidea-inc
Summary: A series of Jim and Maggie vignettes about awkwardness in all its various forms. Each vignette stands on its own, but more will be added periodically. T for language.
1. I Can Pour My Own Drinks

inspired by a) john gallagher jr.'s mesmerizing nose movements, b) alison pill and her fantastically relatable clumsiness, c) aaron sorkin's rat-a-tat-tat writing, and d) bishop allen's "the news from your bed." thank you universe, for thy many blessings :)

XXX

She can't stop staring at him.

It's weird and involuntary, the way she catches herself sneaking peeks at him, weird and involuntary and nerve-wracking. It's like her eyes naturally gravitate towards him; if she doesn't focus, she finds herself outright ogling him. And then, of course, every so often _he _meets _her _eyes and then she has to dive for paperwork or suddenly find the ceiling the most interesting thing in the world - or sometimes she'll accidentally grin her _awful_, _goofy grin_, the one that only seems to happen around him. She doesn't know when smiling at Jim like a mentally handicapped seven-year-old became her default reaction, but it's unbelievably embarrassing. Like, Georgia-embarrassing. LOL-embarrassing.

She swivels in her chair pensively, chewing on her pen. It was Jim's fault. You couldn't go around being nice to people having panic attacks and being adorable and other, equally maniacal things without confusing already confused girls into falling in love with you. It was manipulative. It was _unfair_.

Not that she's in love, whatever Lisa may say: she'd know if she were in love. If she were in love, her stomach would swoop whenever she saw him, and that only really happens when he wrinkles his nose at her. If she were in love, seeing Jim and Lisa together would make her feel like crawling under her desk and never moving again, when in fact she just feels like crawling under her desk and _crying. _All she really has to do is avoid physical contact with him, restrain herself from laughing too loudly around him, steer clear of staring at his lips for longer than socially acceptable, and remember to breathe when he looks at her (without smelling him, of course. He smells nice. Really, really nice. Jerk).

Still chewing on her pencil, she glances up only to lock eyes with a pair of amused, crinkled eyes. Instantly, she grins, wide and giddy and totally unconscious. Jim grins back with raised eyebrows and she buries her nose in her computer, praying he doesn't notice how much she's blushing.

She is _not_ in love with Jim Harper, she decides. And steals another glance at him.


	2. Another Banner Year, A Splendid Day

He watches her, sometimes. He's careful, on guard - he has no interest whatsoever in catching her and Don playing tonsil hockey again - but there's something about her that pulls his gaze. And then she'll smile at him, this wide, startled grin that makes his chest squeeze.

And it's really irritating.

He's not sure how he's supposed to be dealing with this, but he's fairly sure he's mucking it up fantastically anyhow. On the one hand, she seems to have no scruples about chewing him out in a very public manner about Lisa. On the other, she's always flirting with him. It's like she doesn't even realize she's doing it; like their banter is a totally natural thing. And it is. But it's not. And he really needs a drink. Are they office spouses? Is that what this is? And what's an "office spouse" anyway? Should he google it, or would that be weird? He winces - of course that would be weird. He's losing his mind. Oh, God. Is he crazy? He's crazy. That door to the head knocked out what little common sense he had left, and now he's crazy. But that was her fault. Actually, most of his recent head-related injuries have been her fault. All roads lead to Maggie. Fuck.

He sneaks another glance at her. She's being very _Maggie_, gesticulating enthusiastically to Neal, her eyes huge and animated. A piece of hair keeps falling into her face and she keeps tucking it back. A full minute passes before he realizes that he's kind of staring at her a little bit.

"Jim?" He jumps, scrambling for a notepad, trying and failing to look busy. Mac raises her eyebrows at him.

"Yes?" he asks with all the composure of a cat with its head stuck in an empty Kleenex box. Mac regards him for a moment, looking unbearably knowing.

"Never mind," she says after a moment and leaves, leaving Jim to sit and mentally berate himself.

_James Tiberius Harper, _he scolds himself, then freezes. And sighs. She's infiltrated his mind.


	3. Who Do You Need? Nobody!

He misses her.

He misses her giggle and her rants and her crazy arms. He misses turning around after Will signs off to raise his eyebrows at her at her and knowing she knows exactly what he means. His misses the way she can trip without any object to trip over and all the moments and mishaps that make up the wonder that is Maggie.

They still talk. Of course they still talk. She's always very nice, and he's nice, too, because neither one of them wants to point out the fact that something is broken between them. He's actually grateful she avoids him most of the time; it stings, seeing her. It aches.

But he's happy. Really. Lisa is great and life is great and on the whole, a few painful blips on the radar are just that - blips. News moves so fast. He doesn't really have time to worry about whether or not he's _always_ happy. So if his throat closes up whenever he sees Maggie and Don together, or if some nights he stares at the ceiling and reinvents a scenario in which he stayed, in which he ran after her and _stayed_, well, that's fine. Because he's happy. And Maggie's happy. And Lisa's happy. And Don's happy. Everybody's happy.

And he wonders if one day, he'll wake up and it'll be true.

Gather ye rosebuds.


	4. You're Lucky Nobody Needs You

She misses him. She misses his smiles and his weird faces and his eyebrows. She misses catching his eye across the room and sharing knowing looks in the conference room. She misses the way he ruffles his hair when he's thinking and a million other tiny nuances and quirks that she's taken for granted until now, when all that's left is the space where they used to be.

They still talk. She asks how Lisa is, and he asks how Don is - as if they don't already know. He never mentions how she goes out of her way to avoid him. She never mentions it either, and it's easier that way, much easier, because it was always this simple, wasn't it? It's easy. It's easy. Does he look sad? Maybe.

She doesn't cry - actually she's fairly happy most of the time. Living with Don is nice. Being more than a Midnight Girl is nice. She's no Carrie Bradshaw, that's for sure, but she thinks being Maggie Jordan is good enough. And if she gets a sick feeling her stomach, a hot-cold, soupy guilt whenever she imagines different lips instead of Don's on hers, and if sometimes her heart hurts, literally _hurts_ when she watches the back of his head before he calls for a commercial break, well, that's fine. Because she's happy. And Don's a good guy.

But there's a very quiet part of her that's disappointed..

Don's a good guy. Jim's a good guy. She's just not a good girl.


	5. Just Last Year You Were Fortunate, Baby

a little more humor. in lieu of the wringer mr. sorkin was so kind to put us all through sunday, i think it's warranted.

XXX

"Maggie? Maggie, are you listening?"

Don is staring at her, a frown burgeoning on his face.

"Sorry - what were you saying?" she asks guiltily, trying and failing to _concentrate_, damn it.

He slept with her. Jim slept with Lisa. She'd fallen asleep with that thought nudging at her brain and woken up with it, eaten breakfast thinking about it, gotten off on the wrong floor twice thinking about it, and now she can't freaking manage to hold a freaking conversation with Don (her _boyfriend_) because every time she looks up, she sees Jim, at his desk, basking in the glow of the recently-laid.

And it doesn't matter, because good for him, _great_ for him - and great for Lisa, too. Jim is her friend. _Lisa_ is her friend. Her friends are together. Her friends have _slept_ together. She has helped her two good friends to a healthy, sexually active relationship.

Yaaaaaaaay.


	6. guys, i have a favor to ask

all right, here is the thing, my lovelies – i want very much to continue these vignettes, especially as i am having some major newsroom withdrawal (election season is just nasty, y'all). unfortunately, i'm currently suffering the worst bout of writer's block i've ever had…so send me some prompts, please! i'm open to any and all ideas, from the cute to the angsty to the – gasp – semi-smutty (i'm gradually getting there. i'm still a bit shy).

this little fandom is fiercely smart and wonderful, and we could all use a little more jim and maggie, myself included. help me out?


	7. You Were Saving the Date

it would probably be waaaaay more angsty and emotional and messy, but somehow, this happened. forgive me, sorkin. no jim in this one, oddly enough...

first of a few for sbd1 :)

XXX

"No."

Her answer surprises herself as much as it surprises him.

"No?" he blurts.

"No," she replies, blinking rapidly. He slowly lowers the key, throat working. He opens his mouth, seems to change his mind, then opens it again.

"Look, Maggie, I'm, uh…" He stops, staring at anything but her with a focused, burning helplessness. "I'm really trying here," he says at last. "I know lately we've kind of been, you know, but I'm trying, okay?" He finally meets her eyes then, and the vulnerability she sees there shocks her. "I'm really trying." She touches his arm then snaps it back. _What are you doing what is this what about oh my God the _Sex in the City _has gone to your head - _

"Okay," she says firmly, putting her hands on her hips, then at her sides, then crossing them. "Okay, sit down."

He does.

"We're going to talk about this," she decides, pacing in front of him. "About _all_ of this. Because this is weird. This is super weird. We have been on and off for forever, and this is what I _wanted_ – "

He actually half-raises his hand.

"Can I – ?"

"In a second," she snaps. "I _thought_ this was what I wanted, but I don't think it is now, and you know that feeling when you're really up high? It's like – oh, my God, what's that word – "

"Vertigo?" he supplies hesitantly.

"Vertigo!" she cries. "I am experiencing vertigo!"

Don stares at her.

"I don't know where this is going," he says bluntly. She nods, frowning slightly.

"You know," she says after a beat, "I don't either." Without warning, she swoops down and gives him a kiss on the cheek. "You're a good guy, Don," she tells him emphatically. "And I'm sorry. And I have to go."

"Maggie – " he calls after her as she flies out the door.

"You're a good guy!" she calls back, scrambling to get her purse on her shoulder. "And I think I'm breaking up with you!" The hall echoes with something like a giddy laugh, and she's gone.

Don sits down, key in hand.

"What – " he starts to ask it, but he stops, settles for just shaking his head. Maggie. This hurt, yes, but Maggie. Classic Maggie. He glances down at the key in his palm again, and offers with as much good humor as he can muster, "You wanna get a drink?"


End file.
